The girl's tunic was black-and-white, and she was no one. She could hear the yowling of cats begging for scraps and the loud laughter of the dockside whores. The girl remembered a cat who had sold them clams once, but that girl was gone.

The girl slipped into an alley, silent as a shadow. A sword at her hip gleamed in the dying light of the sunset. Another figure stood in the shadows of the alley, waiting for you. A similar blade hung loosely from his hand. The girl walked forward, ice-gray eyes watching him.

Arya watched the unfamiliar swordsman, suspicious. He was dressed in the black-and-white tunic of a Faceless Man, and she had never seen him before. He was only a few years older, with shaggy brown hair and muddy brown eyes. The swordsman stood several inches taller and weighed at least twenty stone. His disguise was a good one.

"Let us begin," he said in the half-squeaky voice of a boy who hadn't yet become a man. "Who are you?"

"No one," Arya replied flatly, her expression betraying nothing. Rule your face. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Valar morghulis. This man behind the mask of a boy, whoever he truly was, was one to be feared, but he would die all the same.

The swordsman who looked like a boy nodded, a slight smirk curling his lips. "Just so." He took up a fighting stance with a cat's easy grace and lunged at her, quick as a striking snake. The girl wasted no time in springing over to meet his blade. And so the dance of flashing steel began.

Arya scowled in frustration as the wispy light of the moon began to shine down, seeping the strength from her body. The swordsman who looked like a boy was just as quick as she was, coupled with a strength that she couldn't match. She had fended him off as the sun began its sluggish descent, but as night claimed Braavos, he began to advance.

"A girl should learn to always be on guard," he whispered, eyes never leaving hers. Arya felt the point of his sword tap her stomach. She flinched before slashing at him, blade flashing like silver in the cold moonlight.

A steel caress brushed against her cheek. "A girl must learn that the Iron Bank never falters." His voice was closer this time, and his stocky form was hard to make out in the shadows. She heard the swish of fabric against fabric, and the blade pressed against her throat. "A girl must learn to see," he murmured in her ear, lips just barely brushing her skin. "A girl must learn to trust her instincts."

"And a man should not hide behind a boy's face," she replied. She turned to look at him. He wasn't as tall now and his face couldn't have been more different, but she knew him as surely as she knew herself. The girl—Arya, Arry, Weasel, Nan, Salty, Cat, the mouse, the ghost, and the wolf once more—stretched up and looked him in the eye. She felt the weapon at her neck move away, replaced by a hand on her waist. She felt fingers growing longer, long hair tickling her cheeks. One hand tilted her face up, and she watched as his face changed.

He broke eye contact first, smirking down at her as he looked at the black-and-white tunic. "A girl is clever. A girl has grown. But how did she know me with a different face?" She could feel his fingers spidering up and down her back.

"You're hard to forget," she replied. "A man has many names and many faces, but I name you as Jaqen H'ghar."

The Lorathi laughed, a musical lilt in his voice that she'd almost forgotten. "It was a man's name once, true. But no longer. And this girl is someone too, despite her many names. A man names her as Arya of House Stark."

She opened her mouth to protest before he pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her. "Only one girl would recognize a man for who he once was. And that is Arya." He smiled down at her, that odd little grin that seemed to be branded into his face. The fingers under her chin tilted her head up so she was looking him straight in the face. His eyes were black, Arya noticed, black and unblinking like a snake's. She held his gaze, one hand moving to cover his at her waist. Her other arm slid around his neck.

Arya had no idea how long they stayed liked that, silent and still as marble statues. She found herself holding her breath for no apparent reason, waiting for something to happen. Silent as a shadow. Still as calm water. Fierce as a direwolf. Arya exhaled softly and moved first.

Jaqen smirked ruefully and laughed as the sword's blade brushed his throat. "A girl has grown," he repeated, sounding a bit hoarse, "and a girl has learned. Valar dohaeris, Arya Stark." He nimbly ducked out from under her arm, taking a few steps back to retrieve his weapon.

The girl returned the smirk. "Valar morghulis, Jaqen H'ghar." She readjusted her grip on the short sword, and for a moment, Needle was in her hands again.

The Faceless Man laughed, and the dance began again.